if and when we rise again
by giveyourimmortalitytome
Summary: Toby’s rambling about nothing in particular. Emma’s gorging on a cheap buffet. Gun shots are cracking in Sean’s ears. Jimmy is nowhere to be found. Ten years later, the shooting’s major players reunite to relive a day they only want to forget.
1. Somehow, Someway

A/N: Why hello there, everyone! I'm back from camp, had a blast, hope your summers are all equally amazing and lacking in school. I've been working on this story for a while, it's the first chapter of maybe two or three parts, and I'm extremely extremely excited about it! My first non-post-RTT fic – who thought that day would come? Well, technically, it remains post-RTT in the sense that JT remains dead (sob!), but this fic doesn't deal directly with the aftermath. He's still referenced, of course, because Toby is a main character and I like to think that even ten years down the road, Toby can't get through a day without a few thoughts of JT. But anyway, this fic takes place eight years after the gang has graduated. Hatzilakos, who I will admit is kind of extremely bitchy in this fic, but when you find out what happened to Peter, it makes more sense. Also, she's getting old and possibly more cranky. Also, I just don't really like her – artistic license, right? BUT ANYWAY, Hatzilakos organized this big memorial assembly thing at Degrassi, and all four – Emma, Sean, Toby, and Jimmy – have shown up. I don't want to reveal anymore – let the angst and sarcasm ensue!

A/N v2: Degrassi? Not mine. Title/Lyrics? Streetlight Manifesto's.

**Part One: Somehow, Someway**

_**everything we built is gone and everyone around is stunned**_

_**we just sit here staring blankly and everything goes numb**_

_**lord, if I felt a thing, I could wrap my mind around this…**_

**I.**

It was the same. Eight years later, and everything was _exactly the same._

Stacks of _Travel_ magazines and copies of the _Grapevine_, circa 2002. A lost and found box filled with dirty gym shorts and forgotten notebooks. A row of boys along the far wall – awkwardly angry, bloody and brooding – waiting for punishment. Mrs. McKenna, the secretary long rumored to be a witch of green _The Wizard of Oz_ variety, screeching into the telephone.

Toby stepped into the front office of Degrassi Community School, muttering the lyrics to _Time Warp _under his breath. He was surprised to find it even smelled the same – of cheap air conditioning and McKenna's noxious perfume, _Springtime Wildflowers._ Two girls huddled in the corner emitted series of cackles. Toby could have sworn he heard them mutter the words _Heather Sinclair,_ but he was probably just another sign that he was on the fast track to senility.

Toby marched up to the front desk, offered ol' McKranky his best grin. "Hello, I'm Toby Isaacs, I'm here for –"

"SHH!" she hissed in reply, waving her talons around in anger. Toby, who really should have known better in the first place, shut up and let her finish her conversation. "I TOLD HIM HE SHOULDN'T HAVE MARRIED THAT GIRL! I _SAID_ SHE WAS NO GOOD! BUT DID HE LISTEN – NO! OF COURSE NOT! AND LOOK WHERE THAT'S GOT HIM – A HERD OF GOATS AND NO BABY!" Toby listened with mild interest as McKenna howled on. After she had chucked the phone back into the receiver, the secretary finally turned her sharp gaze on Toby. "WHAT WAS IT YOU WANTED?"

"I'm, uh," – eight years later, her stony gaze still filled his mouth with marbles – "Toby Isaacs, class of '07 – I'm here for the memorial, uh, service, thing, today –"

"WERE YOU THE KID WHO GOT SHOT?"

"Uh, no. That's Jimmy Brooks. He's in a wheelchair… There's really no resemblance."

"WERE YOU THE KID WHO STOPPED THE CRAZY KID FROM SHOOTING SIMPSON'S GIRL?"

"That's, um, also…not me. Sean Cameron, actually," At McKenna's blank look, he clarified, "You know… the kid who left, and then came back, and then got expelled for weed? That actually wasn't him, though, it was –"

"THEN WHY ARE _YOU_ HERE?" McKenna asked, point blank. The woman had no shame.

"I, uh, I – I was there. When Sean, uh, saved the school. I…watched."

"OH." McKenna shook her head and shuffled through a stack of forms. "I CAN NEVER TELL YOU DAMN KIDS APART." If Toby possessed more courage, he would have pointed out the obvious differences between himself and, say, Jimmy Brooks. Namely, skin color. Or Sean, whose muscles were bigger than Toby's neck. But, alas, Toby was a coward. Always had been. _Maybe if you hadn't been such a fucking wuss in the first place –_ his depressing inner monologue halted when McKenna tossed a packet at him. "THE PRINCIPAL WILL MEET YOU IN ROOM 224 SOON. ENJOY THE BUFFET, COURTESY OF DEGRASSI COMMUNITY SCHOOL PTA."

"Uh, thanks," Toby muttered as he tore the nametag off his packet. Clipping it on to his shirt, he shoved his hands into his pockets and headed for the door. He paused once more before heading out, taking a moment to remember how this office had been throughout his tenure at DCS. For a second, he let his mind wander: Marco, bounding in, babbling excitedly about the upcoming dance; Peter, sitting dejectedly in the corner, waiting for his mom to drop him off on volunteer detail. Emma, at the main desk, arguing heatedly with McKenna about the relative safety of genetically modified foods. Liberty, posting an audition notice for _Dracula._ JT, slumped over next to her, cracking a lame McKenna-vampire joke. Rick, seated near the door, coated in yellow paint and ready to beg Raditch for a change.

He blinked and his world was gone; replaced with the giggling grade nines in the corner, pissed off delinquents to the far right. He ushered himself back to reality and realized sadly: it wasn't the same. The magazines were, yeah, as were the sneakers in the lost and found box – but the people, _his _people, were gone. Marco was doing charity work in Asia, last he'd heard; Peter serving time for fraud. Emma had stopped caring about vegetable welfare years ago; Liberty hadn't written a play since. And JT and Rick were, of course… you know.

As much as he yearned for it, his days at Degrassi were over. All that remained was a tattered issue of _The Grapevine _and a laminated badge proclaiming him to be a "beloved alumni."

**II.**

Emma clutched her clutch, teetering atop the high heels she could never quite get used to. She pushed a strand of obviously blond hair behind her ear, and bit her lip. Some of her cheap drug store lip gloss smeared; she hurriedly applied another coat.

It was odd – Kwan's room had never scared her before. Sure, it had inspired terror in the hearts of slackers everywhere; but she'd never really minded English class. That was then, though; now, she feared one more step closer to room two-two-four would seize her body straight into an epileptic fit.

She fingered the name tag McKenna had chucked at her: _Emma Nelson, beloved alumni. _It was a weird word choice, oddly formal – she was twenty-six, not sixty. But, according to the grapevine – Snake, to be exact – a lot of things had changed around her alma mater since her graduation eight years before. Hatzilakos had a radically different style than Raditch, when it came to ruling Degrassi: a flair for the formal, a thirst for attention that could only be quenched by front page stories and flashing cameras. That's what this entire day was about, Emma suspected – the elaborate ceremony, the pseudo-mourning – it was all so Degrassi's principal could preen for the cameras and prove, once again, that the school board had made the right decision in canning Raditch.

But Emma had RSVPed, taken the day off from work – shown up, fresh and reeking of Victoria's Secret. Snake had made it clear she didn't have to – but what other option did she have? It was ten years later, exactly; she would have spent the day assigning busy work and reliving it all, anyway: the splatter of paint on her favorite hoodie; the bland chicken salad she'd choked down for lunch; how, for just under twenty seconds, the entire world had consisted of Toby's sweaty hand and a 9 millimeter barrel.

The way Emma saw it, she would be spending the entire day at Degrassi, either way – so why not wrangle some free food and a personal day out of it?

She forced herself forward. She had known he would be there – of course he was invited. He had been the shooting poster boy, after all – the one whose face had littered the papers for months afterward. The one who hadn't been able to take the pressure and the blood on his hands; he'd fled Toronto in favor of his alcoholic parents and their cramped trailer.

He'd come back, though, just for her. He'd jumped out of his car, hair slicked back into a tight ponytail, muscles gleaming, Jay trailing behind and cracking _Brokeback_ jokes. He'd come back, and then –

_No. _Emma shut her eyes and told herself for the umpteenth time to _not_ think about him. Even when they were standing in the same room – which, she realized in terror, was happening in about ten seconds – she wouldn't think about him. Wouldn't look at him. Would pretend she was totally cool standing three feet away from him in the room where he'd once given her the most beautiful earrings she'd ever seen.

Another step forward; her hand was on the doorknob. She paused, gathered up what remained of her nerve, and practiced his name in her head: _Sean Cameron. Sean Cameron. _Hopefully, when the time came that she actually had to say it aloud, it wouldn't destroy her.

The door opened, revealing a lame buffet spread out over a row of desks in the middle of the room. The walls were lined with the same Shakespeare and grammar posters from Emma's days at Degrassi; the same apple paperweight and nameplate sat atop Kwan's desk. And, smack dab in the middle of the high school time warp – there he was. Sean Cameron. The freaking love of her freaking life.

His hair was barely existent – the army will do that to you – and he looked uncomfortable in a button-up shirt and khakis. His hands were deep in his pockets, eyes focused on the floor. That is, until the door clicked behind her and her presence was realized.

"Emma!" he said nervously. "I didn't know you were coming!"

"You know me!" she chirped. "I never miss out on a good buffet!"

He chuckled for her benefit and she made a beeline for the food. Gorging would ease the awkwardness, and she could always puke it up later.

"So…" Sean began as Emma dug into the fruit platter. "How have you been?"

"Um…good. Really good, actually," Emma beamed. It was a lie, sure – but her hair was frizzing and she feared she was developing crow's feet around her eyes. Their years apart had been much kinder to Sean: tan and muscular and still absolutely adorable. Emma gulped. "How about you? Solved the Israeli-Palestinian conflict yet?"

He grinned. "We've made some leeway. Planning a bonfire for Hamas and Fatah in a couple of weeks. There's going to be smores."

To her own surprise, Emma's laugh was genuine. "And a sing-along, I'd hope."

"What is a bonfire without a couple rounds of Kumbayah?" Sean popped a carrot in his mouth; Emma stopped piling food on her little plate. She looked up and, for the first time, met Sean's gaze. The brilliant blue stabbed her in the gut; she hurriedly gulped down a handful of cookies. "I'm glad you're here. You look – amazing, Em," he whispered sheepishly. Emma blushed.

"Sean, Emma – I'm so glad you're here! I was scared I'd be first, and have to, like, hang out awkwardly here alone until everyone else showed up. Did you guys talk to McKenna? How freaky is she? I'm going to have nightmares for another decade, I swear. So how weird is it being back? How have you two been? I haven't talked to anyone from Degrassi in _years_ –"

Oh, god – it was Toby. He stumbled through the front door, blindly barreling past any romantic tension in the room. His nervous chatter was so familiar that it was more endearing than annoying to Emma, despite the fact that he totally wrecked an almost-sort-of-maybe moment.

"Hey, uh, Isaacs!" Sean smiled as he and Toby did that awkward man-hug thing that Emma had never understood. Why did guys have such issues with public affection? She'd had her doubts about Toby through the years, but – come _on. _They all knew Sean wasn't gay. "I've been alright. How about you? Finally kissed a girl, eh?"

"I want you to know that I have kissed over _five_ girls since high school!" Toby grinned, wiggling a hand for emphasis. He'd always been so good at mocking himself – Toby embraced his faults, flashing them for the entire world to see. Emma had always been to self-aware, too self-conscious, for that.

"Look out, pimp!" Sean hooted happily. Toby turned to Emma, wrapping her in a fierce, shameless embrace.

"You look awesome, Em," he proclaimed warmly as they parted. Although his words carried none of the heaviness of Sean's moments earlier, they were sweet in their own Toby way.

"Thanks. You, too."

"You never were the greatest liar, Nelson," Toby smirked, turning his attention towards the meager spread laid out before them. "Wow, I must say, I am impressed," he said with a grin, gesturing towards the food. "It's good that they _care_ so much, you know? Considering we had guns pointed at our faces ten years ago, and all – I don't know about you two, but this snazzy buffet is definitely helping me cope."

Another genuine laugh escaped, making Emma even more grateful for Toby's presence. With him around, it was easier to ignore the _'I love you_'s and _'You can't expect me to stop my fucking life for you_'s that hung in the air; overlook the bulimic hurricane brewing in her stomach.

"You haven't changed, Isaacs," Sean said, clapping his old friend on the back.

Toby stiffened; his voice grew momentarily serious. He looked at his old friends sadly and shrugged, "That's the sad part." Toby's sudden sobriety alarmed Emma, but before she could even react – it was gone.

"Well, I know one thing that hasn't changed," she said quickly in an attempt to alleviate the silence. "Kwan's obsession with Shakespeare – you'd think, in eight years, she would have coughed up enough for a new poster, or something."

With an appraising glance around the room, Sean nodded. "_Macbeth – Hamlet –_ _Twelfth Night – Othello_." He sighed. "Same old worn out dead guys."

"Hey! I _liked Twelfth Night_!" Emma protested through a mouthful of crackers.

"Yeah, you were the only one," Toby dead-panned.

Emma retorted with a light slap on his shoulder; Toby stole a handful of strawberries in retaliation. And, just for a second, things weren't different. Their collective baggage was of the light, simple, carry-on variety. Rick wasn't dead; Sean wasn't in the army… Things were how they were supposed to be; how Emma had planned them out in her head late at night when she was unable to sleep. Everything was how it was before: before the shooting totaled their innocence; before Emma lost the underlying urge to save the world. Before Sean had up and ditched, shattering what little trust she'd had left in the power of love.

Before it had been a huge achievement for her to last this long in a room with him without bursting into tears. Before eating had morphed into a desperate, pathetic coping mechanism. Before Cause Girl had shattered into some jaded, shallow, bitter, unfamiliar shell.

Emma smiled brightly and nibbled on a hunk of cantaloupe. Ten years ago today, she nearly died. Yet, somehow, the presence of her high school sweetheart was freaking her out _so_ much more than the previously suppressed memories of yellow paint and near-death experiences.

She swallowed and shrugged. Reason number three hundred and eight-seven she was a horrible person.

**III.**

Joining the army had altered Sean Cameron's life drastically in a lot of ways. He spent nine months out of every year battling for peace in stifling heat. He could sprint a mile in under five minutes and do more push-ups than he could keep count of. Tasks that might seem odd to your average Canadian citizen had become second nature to him: unrecognizable green mush for breakfast, dismantling pipe bombs before lunch, spending your afternoon betting on epic scorpion-versus-cockroach battles and pushing the _real _battles out of your mind.

It was a weird way of life, he had to admit, but he'd grown to love it. The early wake-ups and sweat dripping from his forehead as he greased down a two-ton tank and the dirty jokes his buddies from his squadron made at dinner – it was unconventional, and unhygienic at times – but it was _his_. For the first time since his days on Degrassi's basketball team, Sean was actually a part of something – something bigger, something productive. He wasn't just jacking laptops and racing cars anymore; there was finally a point to Sean's existence. He was damn good at his job, and despite all the drawbacks – the isolation from the majority of the planet, the shitty food, and did he mention the _heat?_ – it was, overall, more satisfying than anything else Sean had ever known.

Not to say that his life was now an extended, heartwarming episode of M.A.S.H. – far from it. He risked his life every day to achieve peace for a people who weren't totally into it to begin with. He'd given up a lot to get where he was – any chance he'd ever had at a normal life.

Note Exhibit A – currently standing about a yard away from him, gulping down chunks of cantaloupe and seemingly unaware of how gorgeous she was. Sean had been openly staring at her for a while now; she looked up and he quickly averted his gaze.

"So, how much is this going to suck?" Toby asked cheerfully before downing a small pastry. "Hatzilakos making kissy faces at the cameras as some grief counselor tells the kids it's a bad idea to shoot people…"

Emma rolled her eyes and nodded. Sean was grateful she was speaking; it gave him an excuse to look at her. "Don't forget our awkward Grade 10 yearbook photos blown up to hideous proportions and pasted up along the walls."

Toby smiled and grinned; Sean smiled, too. This wasn't as difficult as he expected. If he could simply ignore Emma Nelson and the gun shots blasting through his thoughts, maybe he would make it out of this school alive.

That vaguely hopeful thought only led to a depressing one – what if he hadn't made it out the first time? What if that gun had been pointing forty degrees in the other direction? These were the kinds of questions that haunted him late into the night – even in Israel. He'd sweat and fidget and flip his pillow over and try to think happy thoughts… But it always came back to that damn gun. You'd think a guy who used much bigger machinery on a regular basis would be able to get a dinky 9mm out of his head.

Sean had never really dealt with a lot of the stuff that happened on that day. Ditching for Wasaga had only made it that much easier to avoid it all. As far as he could tell, everyone else had faced it some way – Emma, with… ugh, fucking disgusting, he didn't want to think about it; Toby talked out his feelings in intense therapy up until graduation; Jimmy got into art and drew all those twisted pictures. Sean, however, returned to Degrassi a year and a half later, after all the hardcore shit had passed by; ran straight into Emma's arms and never looked back.

Well…almost never.

They'd only spoken about the shooting once, a couple months after he'd returned. It was the three year anniversary – but save for a solemn moment of silence during homeroom, the day's significance went completely unnoticed by a majority of the student body. That is, except for Spinner – Sean didn't hear him say a single word all day, even though they had nearly every class together. And Toby, who spent the day in front of Rick's old locker, just…remembering. And, of course, Emma. It always came back to Emma.

He'd been late for math, and was rushing to get to class in time so Armstrong wouldn't bitch at him again. He'd taken a sharp right turn at the science hallway – and skidded to a stop almost directly in front of her.

She'd gasped, startled out of her memories. For a split second, Sean saw genuine terror in her eyes. "Oh – my God – for a second, I thought you were –" An awkward giggle; Emma avoided looking at him and pushed her bangs back.  
"Are you – okay?" He'd asked stupidly. To this day, he was still working on not sounding like an inconsiderate idiot when he only meant to be comforting. "I – I mean –"

"Oh, me? Yeah, I'm fine – of course! Why wouldn't I be – you know. Fine?" She chirped, grabbing his hand and tugging him away from the tile where he'd once fought for her life. "Come on, walk me to bio?"

"I'm not okay. Not really." He'd muttered, unmoving. "I – I let him die, Em."

"You didn't _let_ him die," Emma retorted bluntly. "You were fighting for my life, for Toby's life, for the lives of every student at this school –"

"Well, that didn't work out like I planned, did it?" Sean said bitterly.

Emma had sighed and gripped his hand. "You saved me."

"What if I hadn't?" Sean raised his gaze to the row of lockers before him. Mental images of blood splattered across them skittered through his brain. "What if –"

"What ifs aren't going to help anyone. What ifs didn't happen; they _won't _happen. What ifs are completely and totally pointless in nearly every respect, except for freaking you out." Emma informed him firmly. She pulled again on his arm; he let her lead him away. Away from the wet spot that formed on his jeans after it went off; away from the sirens and the stretchers and the chaos; away from the reverberating gun shots. Sean never finished that thought: _what if I had let you die? _To this day, he had yet to speak the words aloud.

"Emma – Toby – it's so good to see you!" Sean jerked back to reality at the sound of his former principal's voice; she was hugging her two former pupils warmly. Once she spotted Sean, her cheery demeanor diminished considerably. "Oh – Sean – how have you been?" Hatzilakos forced a smile, but her distaste was obvious. Sean may have been the school's hero in grade 10, but he never managed to make it out of Degrassi with a diploma – her son had seen to that.

"I've been great," Sean replied shortly. Better than Peter, at least, who was currently sitting on his ass in a twelve-by-twelve cell, jacking off to a picture of Emma. Oh, fuck – Sean's fists clenched in his pockets; he regretted that thought as soon as it materialized.

"That's fantastic," she said quickly, before turning back to the more successful alumnus. "How about you two – Emma, Snake told me you're teaching?"

"I'm a sub at a high school just outside Montreal," Emma replied flatly. "Hopefully I'll secure a permanent job in the next couple of years."

"I'm working in computer programming –" Toby cut in quickly, to avoid Emma's unabashed hatred of the woman who had nearly torn apart her family. Hatzilakos, however, was much more concerned with Emma's post-graduation life.

"That's fabulous, dear," she said with a smile, placing a comforting hand on Emma's shoulder. Emma treated her touch like road kill. "What subject do you want to teach?"

"Science. Not chemistry, though. I hate chemistry. I've had enough of that to last a lifetime, wouldn't you agree, Mrs. Hatzilakos?"

Hatzilakos's grin faded somewhat; Emma continued to openly glare. The only noise in the room was the muffled crunching of Toby gnawing on a cookie. Sean gulped and ran a hand over his bristly head; a nervous habit leftover from when he actually had hair to push away. From across the buffet, Toby caught Sean's eye and raised a single eyebrow, mouthing the word _catfight._

"Yes, well, we best be headed to –" Hatzilakos hurriedly stepped towards the door, towards her adoring public and the perfection projected across the walls. Her hand was on the doorknob, she glanced back one last time at the remnants of the class that nearly broke her career – but something wasn't right. "Where's Jimmy – Jimmy Brooks? Hasn't he arrived by now? He RSVP'ed!"

Sean met her frantic concern with a lazy shrug. "I haven't seen him."

"Me, either," Toby began, "maybe he's, like, in the bathroom, or something – or maybe he got lost? I don't know, it's been a while since we've all been here, right? Or I guess he could have –"

"We'll just have to go on without him," Hatzilakos said, doing her best to hide her annoyance. What would a shooting memorial be without, as Toby had pegged him, the token cripple? "It's about to begin."

That's where she had it wrong, Sean decided – it had begun ten years ago, today. When Spinner and Jay had figured it'd be hysterical to splatter paint all over the school crazy. When Rick, desperate and pissed off and completely fucked-up, somehow determined his only remaining option to be a 9mm pistol. When Jimmy had forgotten his history book and doubled back before class to grab it from his locker. When Sean had approached Emma and Toby to ask how they were doing, after everything that had happened that morning – the three had set off for algebra class, rounded a corner, and – well, check the newspapers for the rest. Or ask Hatzilakos. She'd be happy to tell you.

It had all begun that day – so many chances at redemption, so many ways it could have all gone down a hell of a lot worse. And as Sean walked down the hallway, following the woman who'd expelled him and the kid who'd hugged Emma out on his front porch as Sean hurried away, wiping away tears and the girl who'd called her mom, no questions asked – it hit him. They'd all graduated, moved on – gotten jobs, forged relationships – attempted real life. But here, at this school – the freshmen art lining the walls, the paint-chipped lockers, the flyers for clubs and dances and charities – it was here. Ten years later; and Sean was only beginning to realize – none of them had ever really left.

**IV.**

Eleven-fifty-three. One minute left. Wait for it. Wait –

A single number changed on his expensive digital; it was now eleven fifty-four. Ante Meridian, Eastern Standard Time. It was ten years, exactly. Well, not exactly, he couldn't pinpoint it to the second, but – close enough. Ten years.

He ran through the moment in his mind, again, for the millionth time. He'd probably spent more time re-enacting it than sleeping, in his lifetime. It was all crystal clear, even now, even ten years later.

He closed his eyes, placed a hand on his old locker. It was the upper level; he had to stretch to reach it. They'd given him a new one, once he'd come back – closer to his homeroom, closer to the ground. Step one in making life easier for the cripple. The sight of a freshmen fumbling with _his _lock at _his _locker had nearly been enough to erase all the therapy he'd sat through since getting released – even though he hadn't opened it in over a decade, this place was still _his_. He'd once hung two pictures of Ash here – the two pictures that eventually led to their demise. He'd received countless stupid notes from Marco, stuffed into the cracks. Spinner had nearly goaded him into trading the precious piece of real estate, but luckily that had crashed and burned, like most of what Spin attempted during high school. He'd kissed Hazel here, every day before fifth period – she'd had math, and he had chem. Their paths had crossed here, at his locker, however briefly.

He'd dropped the history book into his bag when Rick had appeared. Coated in gunk, clutching a backpack, lips trembling. They'd talked – about what exactly was a little fuzzy – but he remembered the major gist of the conversation. He'd been worried, offered Rick his back, expressed how sorry he was at everything that had happened – Rick had twitched, blinked, anxiously informed him how wrong he was. Then he had pulled out his gun.

Everything, cliché as it sounds, had gone all deep and slow-motion. As if he'd been watching the entire thing from a crappy theatre seat, munching on Snow Caps and sucking down a soda. It had taken him a moment to process the weapon – he'd dropped the book, started backing away, mumbling whatever his brain could process in an attempt to get Rick to just put it away.

But it hadn't worked, Rick raised the gun, stuttering frantically – "You s-stabbed me in the b-back!" And it had dawned on him that there was no going back, Rick was outraged and armed; he was fucked. He'd stumbled backwards, faster and faster, and finally spun around, it was make or break, run for it, quick, just turn the corner and get the hell out of the school –

And then it was over. He hadn't even felt any pain, really – he was aware that he had been hit with a bullet in the small of his back, aware that it should probably hurt. Aware that he was tumbling to the ground. Aware of the cool, grimy tile against his cheek.

…And that was it. Next time he was aware of anything, it was the scratchy hospital sheets and the fact that he could no longer wiggle his toes.

His hands gripped his wheels; he expertly spun around and rolled forward a few feet – following the exact route he had taken, ten years ago to the minute. Along the same grimy tile.

It had been ten years since he'd stood up. Since he had taken a step. Since he had gotten checked out by a hot girl; since he had gone up a flight of stairs; since he had swam a lap or sprinted a mile or nailed a slam dunk. Ten years of rolling, wheeling, of ramps and awkward and pity. Ten years of laughing sheepishly as indifferent waiters pushed aside chairs. Ten years of looking up.

"Jimmy? Mr. Brooks? Jimmy – where have you been?" It was Hatzilakos, storming down the hall; hair teased about three feet and pink nails waving hysterically. She was followed by Toby, looking exactly as he remembered him; Emma, skinnier and blonder and more exhausted; and Sean, bald and bulky and slightly terrifying. "You were _told_ to meet in Mrs. Kwan's room as soon as you arrived –"

"I was just…checking out the old stomping grounds, you know?" he offered a small smile, sheepish in his grief. "Sorry if I messed up the remembering and all that –"

"It's fine," Toby called from behind, shrugging and rolling his eyes. "You just missed out on some pretty fine dining, but I suppose that's your loss, eh?"

"We're on our way to the assembly thing right now," Emma informed him warmly.

"Yes, well, then, we best get going! We're running late enough as it is!" Hatzilakos shook out her hair and stomped away. Sean rolled his eyes and clapped Jimmy on the back.

"Hey, Jim, it's really good to see you – how have you been?"

"Alright," Jimmy shrugged, as Toby held out his hand and adjusted his glasses. "How 'bout all of you?"

Toby let out a long sigh as they shook hands and man-hugged. "Same old, same old, you know how it is. Ninety-nine problems, but a –"

"Aw, man, just stop there, _please!" _Jimmy laughed.

"You look great, Jimmy," Emma said with a smile, awkwardly leaning forward so she could awkwardly hug him. He should have been used to the halfway-hugs, by now, but… For a moment, Jimmy was taken out of the warm greetings, the friendly small chat, the old sort-of friends. For a moment, Jimmy couldn't avoid it, as he spent a majority of his adult life doing. For a moment, he was simply, once again, the token cripple.


	2. Falling, Fallen, We All Fall Down

A/N: HEY EVERYONE! Hope school is going swimmingly for all of you unfortunate enough to be attending. My course load is a lot more hardcore this year, which explains the glaring lack of updates recently, but I promise that I'm still in love with this story and I will definitely be finishing it. (You know what they say about slow and steady things, after all!) Anyway, this chapter is a lot darker than the first, but I hope you still enjoy it for what it is. (Honestly, Toby's bit is one of my favorite things that I've ever written. [I LOVE TOBY, especially when he is damaged and honest and remembering the two best friends that he's lost.) Feedback of all kinds is greatly appreciated – especially concerning Emma and Sean's relationship (or lack thereof), which is the portrayal I'm kind of iffy about. I know the details concerning their break-up are kind of hazy, but I promise that'll all be cleared up in the third chapter, which if things go as planned, will be the last.

A/N 1½: Also, there's some fanwanking in this chapter – you'll see. As always, simply go with it, por favor.

Degrassi, not mine. Chapter title/lyrics, not mine. The awkward and sarcastic this story is chock full of? All mine, baby.

**Part Two: Falling, Fallen, We All Fall Down**

_**and don't you squint at me because your childhood was the pits  
every single one of us have trodden through our shit**_

**I.**

"Go on – Jimmy – just a few words, please. Jimmy Brooks, everyone!"

Jimmy stared at Hatzilakos blankly for a few horrifying silent moments; she grinned and beckoned him forward. He turned to his left – Sean was shrugging helplessly; to his right, Toby was fighting back laughter. So this was it, he told himself as he slowly pulled his wheelchair out of neutral and rolled forward. This was the single most embarrassing moment of his entire twenty-seven years on the planet. He'd previously thought that nothing could top getting shut down by Ellie in grade twelve, the first time – oh, how wrong he'd been.

He turned to his right, wheeling along as slowly as he could manage to stave off the inevitable. The audience, unable to remain quiet for such a long period of time, started buzzing with whispered conversation and muffled giggles. The familiar freak show feeling was coming on, complete with the bile rising steadily up his throat.

A left, and he was working his way up the ramp that had been installed especially for him, a year or so after he'd gotten out of the hospital. Hatzilakos, that bitch – she had no right to do this, spring a speech on him like this. He had expected a few boring hours and some awkward conversation out of the day, not – not sitting in front of at least four hundred bored, cynical teenagers. What was he supposed to do? Enlighten them with his crippled wisdom?

He didn't have anything worth saying, anyway. Don't get shot? Avoid kids who beat up their girlfriends? Run fast, just in case?

It took an eternity, but he finally reached the mike that Hatzilakos had oh-so-kindly lowered to his height. Jimmy gulped, gazing out into the sea of Degrassi students. They stared blankly back at him, slouched over in their chairs and popping gum lazily.

"So, um, hey, everyone," Jimmy began awkwardly, "I'm, uh, Jimmy Brooks – although I guess most of you have, uh, figured that out by now. I'm living in Ottawa right now, working on a lot of different projects – a tee-shirt line, some articles for local papers, and I'm trying to open up an art gallery with a curator buddy of mine. I'm just your average starving artist – living off of pasta in my slightly sketchy apartment. I'm going to be honest, here, guys – I love it."

"But, um, yeah, as enlightening as the previous speakers have been – it's good that you guys know, uh, the exact number of reported serious bullying cases in the past ten years – four thousand, eight-hundred and ninety-two, huh? _Wow_. And that rap video was just, well, totally fitting…" He chuckled awkwardly, hoping to convey just enough sarcasm to get the cranky adolescents to like him. "But what happened ten years ago, today, in that hallway, right over there – it wasn't about statistics. Or numbers. Or the national decline of suspension for bullying-related infractions – thirty-eight percent, who knew? It was about one kid – Rick E. Murray. He was pretty smart, didn't have many friends – bullied. A lot. One kid, who finally decided that he'd had enough. Of getting shoved into lockers, tripped in the caf, pushed around in gym class and ignored by girls and getting paint dumped on him the one moment where he thought he'd shine –"

Emma, seated in the front row next to Toby, stood up. Muttering apologies and excuses, she bent down to grab her purse off the floor (much to the excitement of the pimply kids behind her) and scurried out of the auditorium. Jimmy paused, for a moment, considering his next words.

"The presenters seem to be placing all of the blame for this thing squarely on the shoulders of the kids who bullied Rick. Of course, they aren't blameless. I mean – I was one of them. We had our reasons for what we did to Rick, noble as they may have seemed at the time – but it wasn't just them. Us. Rick was a victim, yeah, in a lot of ways – but no one forced him to bring that pistol with him to school. He chose his own path, violent and destructive as it was. Lots of kids who are bullied in high school make it out perfectly okay. I'm sure we've all been bullied to some degree, in our lives – granted, not as harshly as Rick was, but – he made a choice, that day."

Jimmy was rambling; he had a tendency to ramble. He recognized this fact, internally, as he blabbered on and on about a day ten years ago that no one but him and Toby and Hatzilakos cared about – but he was too nervous and sweaty and eager to get back to being ignored to do anything to stop it.

"I'm not completely sure…what my exact point is. I guess…you can't pinpoint an exact moment where it all could have been different. Like, if I hadn't picked Rick last in gym the Monday before, he wouldn't have brought the gun in. The shooting was a build-up of everything that was wrong with our school, our society – the cruelty, and the violence." Jimmy gulped, picking a spot at the far end of the gym to stare at.

"On the surface, my life was easily the most affected by everything that went down. Obviously. I mean, I'm in a wheelchair. Crippled, in all aspects of the word. I can never – I haven't sprinted in ten years, or done a lay-up, or walked up a flight of stairs – even my self confidence is pretty much shot." Realizing the dark double-meaning of his last word, he coughed and added hurriedly, "Uh, just ignore that lame, accidental pun. But – what I'm trying to get to is – for everything horrific that happened, I like to think some good came out of it, too. Maybe that's just my inner naïve optimist, but – I can still play basketball, which was pretty much my life before this chair – so I didn't loose that. And, stuck in a hospital room for months on end, I – I discovered how much I loved to draw. And that's my life these days, so… If I had followed the original plan for my life, NBA by eighteen, Hall of Fame by 25 – I never would have found that. And, honestly, I don't know what my life would be like without art."

Jimmy couldn't resist a peek at the audience – while the Degrassi students didn't look exactly enthralled, none of them had fallen asleep yet. Toby had lost all of his sarcastic cheer from moments before – hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, following Jimmy's words intently. Sean was slouching in the opposite direction, arms crossed and avoiding Jimmy's glance. Hatzilakos looked slightly stunned and the grief counselor who had presented first looked simply furious at Jimmy's acceptance of the entire ordeal. He didn't fit with the picture she'd painted of shooting victims: weepy, crippled, weak – stuck in the past, bitter. It hit Jimmy, right then: maybe he wasn't. Maybe life wasn't as bad as he thought it had to be.

That word struck him – acceptance. He had been shot. Life had gone on.

"It wasn't just me, though. My friend Spinner was the kid who dumped the paint on Rick; the most obvious choice for school scapegoat, since Rick was dead and all. He was shunned, after he admitted it, expelled – but life got better for him, too. Found something to believe in, someone to believe in him. He's a cop, now, doing really well for himself." Toby fidgeted for a moment, adjusted his glasses. Sean ran a hand over his head; gulped and sighed.

"I'm sure the others could tell you – would, if you took the time to get to know them beyond their _People _side-bar biography blurbs – the shooting shattered us, shattered our collective universe – but our lives aren't defined by what happened, right here, in that hallway, ten years ago today. My life isn't defined by my chair, or my broken spine – Toby isn't defined by how he's probably one of the few people who remembers Rick as more than a psychopath. Sean isn't defined by struggle with the gun that saved the school. We're more than that, more than this."

Jimmy paused. "I'm not trying to belittle the shooting, or what we all went through – the therapy, the nightmares, the isolation. But – it's been ten years, you know? I don't want to say I'm _over_ it, exactly – but I've made my peace. With Rick, with that gun, with my lack of legs. It happened; it's in the past. My name is Jimmy Brooks, I was shot ten years ago. But – I'm alright."

Jimmy took a deep breath and dared another look at the audience. The students seemed surprised that it was over, already; glancing awkwardly at friends to make sure they weren't the only ones clapping.

The applause rapidly gathered momentum; moments later, the entire auditorium was on their feet. Toby, practically jumping up and down with excitement, bellowing Jimmy's name; Sean, grinning openly for the first time and whistling through his teeth. The countless nameless new Degrassi faces were no longer moments away from slumber – they were whooping and cheering. Hatzilakos seemed horrified at the unprecedented turn of events; she had leapt up and was running from reporter to reporter, frantically trying to take back Jimmy's words.

But that wasn't possible. Jimmy grinned and raised a hand in gratitude, acknowledgement – acceptance.

…He had been shot. Life had gone on.

**II.**

Hatzilakos had trouble curtailing the crowd after Jimmy brought the fucking house _down_. She practically rolled him off the stage herself, grabbing the mike and screeching as calmly as she could manage for everyone to please, _please_ settle down. Grinning, Jimmy whirled down the ramp and back into his designated spot; Toby and Sean congratulated him loudly, clapping their friend on the back as Hatzilakos glared.

Sean reveled in her anger, thoughts spiraling back to Emma. She'd been gone for almost the entirety of Jimmy's speech, ditching as soon as Rick's name was mentioned. Sean didn't blame her – not that he really blamed her for anything, ever. (The numerous fuck-ups in their relationship always led straight back to him, anyway. Clean the ravine, anyone?) Throughout the entire speech, Sean had watched Jimmy intently, paying close attention – but somewhere at the far reaches of his mind, he'd also maintained a running tab on what Emma would think of Jimmy's words. It was almost instinctive, to him now – the constant commentary, How Emma Nelson Would Feel About Every Aspect of His Life, If He Had Not Fucked Things Up and She Was Actually There. Every time he ate a cheeseburger, opened his wallet, read his horoscope, gulped down a smoothie – there was always a part of him that wondered what she'd have to say. Although, he liked to think that he knew her well enough to replicate it authentically in his head…which sounded creepier than it actually was, really.

"Please, _settle! Down!_" Hatzilakos bellowed helplessly. The audience collectively rolled their eyes and obliged. "Okay…okay… Thank you for that, inspiring speech, Mr. Brooks!" She laughed awkwardly, and continued, "I just wanted to wrap things up by saying – ten years ago today, this school faced an unimaginable tragedy. And today, the victims return to you, all grown up and successful despite the adversary they faced –" – at this, Toby snorted – "– which only serves as an example to you all of the school motto: _The perfect human being is all human beings put together, it is a collective, it is all of us together that make perfection. _Socrates, everyone. Socrates. A very wise man."

To his left, Toby had shut his eyes, body wracked with silent hysterics. On his right, Jimmy shook his head and muttered, "How does that even relate _at all?_"

Quickly loosing control of the crowd once more, Hatzilakos finally concluded: "Go back to class, everyone! Back to class! Have a wonderful day! And never forget what these brave people went through ten years ago today! Remember the bravery! Remember the sacrifice! Degrassi Community School, class of 2007 – remember!"

"Remember to tell my husband to wire last month's alimony check, I'm scheduled for another Botox injection at three-thirty!" Toby coughed.

Sean grinned as he stood up, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. As they waited for the students to file out the back, Jimmy twiddled his thumbs as Toby surveyed the gym. The three boys hadn't been friends at school, they hadn't spoken in years – thrown together only by this day, ten years ago.

"That speech – that was fucking awesome, Jim," Sean offered to ease the silence.

"Yeah, dude, it was ridiculous, I think Hatzilakos crapped her pants!" Toby agreed eagerly as they followed a crowd of giggling girls down the aisle.

Jimmy smiled and muttered a humble thank you. All the attention post-paralysis had quenched his former thirst for the spotlight three times over. The days when Sean and Jimmy hated each other seemed so far off, now.

They filed up the aisle and out into the hallway, swallowed by swarms of loud teenagers cracking gum and rolling their eyes dramatically every other sentence.

"Were we ever this annoying?" Toby asked as he pushed past a girl engrossed in some sort of epic text battle.

"I would like to say no, but…" Jimmy grinned and shrugged.

"We were endearing," Toby concluded firmly.

Sean flashed back to himself, circa grade nine: bandana, hoodie, wifebeater. Glaring and blaring inappropriate rap; mouthing off and rolling his eyes as he stole electronic equipment in a passive-aggressive attempt to hurt Emma.

"I was… a delinquent," he remarked matter-of-factly. Neither Toby nor Jimmy denied this.

"So you aren't anymore?" Toby asked cheerfully as they wandered past the locker Sean had slammed in Emma's face.

"You can't be a delinquent in the army, you get shot," Jimmy replied casually. At his last words, he shook his head and sighed. "You know, I really have to work on eradicating that word from my vocabulary."

"Are you stationed – in Iraq?" Toby asked, an edge in his voice. Sean nodded; Toby widened his eyes. "Man, that's crazy. I could never do that. Good – good for you."

That wasn't the reaction Sean was used to. Usually, news that he was in the army spurred skeptical looks and harsh political accusations. Blatant respect was rare. At that moment, Sean could not for the life of him remember why he and Toby had fallen out of touch.

"Thanks, dude. I – I do what I can, you know?" Sean grinned; he loved his job. He had about a month left of leave, but he was already anxious to get back in uniform.

"Could you imagine me as a soldier?" Toby asked, adjusting his glasses and snorting once more.

"I would fear for our country if they were letting you in the army. You are probably the reason they voted against the draft, man," Jimmy replied.

"You're probably right," Toby agreed easily. Looking around, he changed the subject abruptly. "So where'd Emma go?"

"I think when you mentioned Rick, Jimmy – it was too much," Sean muttered, grateful for an excuse to talk about her.

"She was really fucked-up after the shooting," Toby noted, a degree of sadness in his voice. "And… I don't think she ever got any _less_ fucked-up afterwards; just better at hiding it." He shoved his hands into his pockets and added, "I'm going to go see if I can find her."

He marched off immediately, before Sean could voice his meager protest that _he _should be the one chasing after her, saving her. Oh, well. At least Toby was able to string together a coherent thought in her presence.

It occurred to him then how he must sound: absolutely fucking pathetic. He focused his thoughts on other things: nearly getting shot ten years ago; Jimmy _actually _getting shot ten years ago. Those were the things that mattered.

He skimmed his mental list of things to get done before he headed back to the Middle East: sprint two miles a day to maintain his shape. Visit his parents; dump their stash of booze when they weren't looking. Get his car fixed at Morty's and check to make sure Jay hadn't overdosed yet. Get a copy of Craig's new CD – unoriginal, weepy guitar strumming that it was, he still had to support the guy. Eat as much McDonald's as his body could take.

Sean and Jimmy stood next to each other, underneath a Carl Sagan quote Sean had never completely understood. Neither had said a word since Toby had left; the awkward surged.

"That – speech, Jim," Sean said, _again_, but what else was he supposed to do? "Good stuff."

"Thanks." Jimmy rolled over to a windowsill that peered out over the courtyard. "So, where are you going now?"

"Immediately?" Sean plopped down next to him. "Back to the hotel. Maybe later I'll see a movie. What about you?"

"Staying with my parents for the week, so I'll probably wander around a bit before calling one of them to pick me up. They mean well, but – I'm not some crippled teenager anymore, you know?"

"Yeah, you're a crippled adult," Sean retorted. He automatically resented anyone who took their parent's love for granted.

Jimmy took the remark with a stride, laughing as he replied, "Yeah, I guess the fact that I have to call one of them to pick me up at twenty-seven kind of kills the whole rebellion thing, right? It's just – today, especially, they're just – it's hard to explain. They don't really get it, not that I blame them, but – going out to a fancy dinner isn't going to excuse the fact that I got shot ten years ago today."

"Neither is a drawn-out ceremony."

"Yeah, Hatzilakos doesn't really get it either. I don't think anyone does…" Jimmy trailed off. Sean finished his sentence instinctively.

"Except, you know, us."

The silence that followed wasn't so awkward.

**III.**

Toby strolled into the closest girl's bathroom nonchalantly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He really had no shame.

He ducked down and surveyed the stalls – they were all empty, save for one; just as he had expected. A pair of black heels, a pair of sexy legs – were wrapped around the toilet, emitting small, sad little retching sounds. The noises halted as soon as Toby let the door slam shut.

"Hello?" he called cheerfully.

Emma's reply was sarcastic and spiteful, to make up for the fact that Toby had caught her throwing up in a toilet. "_Toby? _Either you really are a girl, or you're hanging out here, waiting for the next hot high school chick to mack on."

"Option three, actually," Toby replied, leaning against a sink. He knew he should get comfortable; he was going to be here for a while. "I'm here to tell my friend Emma Nelson that, despite what she may have heard, puking all your problems away doesn't really work."

"How would you know?" Emma snapped. She didn't even bother to deny it. Toby hoped this was a good sign – after all, admitting you had a problem was the first step, blah blah blah.

"I used to have an eating disorder, too, you know."

"For like a week!"

"I was still caught in the brutal trap of conforming to society's rigid ideals; I even _fainted_. We're practically ED twins. Except, of course, I didn't have bulimia, technically; I used laxatives instead of purging – it tasted a hell of a lot better, if you ask me, since you can get chocolate flavored. But then it's really gross coming out– three hours later, you're stuck crapping – well. Moving on. Tomayto, tomahto, I guess."

"This isn't funny, Toby."

"But I'm trying, I have to get points for trying," Toby paused; he could _feel_ Emma's eyes rolling skyward. "You must have missed me, all these years, eh?"

"Missed the annoying dork with a tendency to interrupt my self-destructive rituals? Like you wouldn't believe."

Toby let out a brief chuckle; witty banter aside, it was time to get serious. "Emma. I thought you stopped all of this."

"I did, for a while. I knitted; I went to therapy; I ate three meals a day and used the toilet for all the right reasons." Emma flushed. "But then... When me and Sean broke up, I was living in Vancouver, and suddenly I was all alone, in this random city, working at a job I didn't even really like. I had to deal with school, work, rent – all of it, completely alone. And I just… couldn't."

"And puking up meals solved all of this, I assume."

"Well, no, but – you know the deal. The one aspect of my life I could control, and all that."

"Why _did_ you and Sean break up, anyway?"

Emma sighed. "It's a long story that ends with him happily saving lives in the army and me, here, straddling a toilet, talking to you."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Emma actually laughed this time; a good start. "You're so much like JT, it's frightening."

"I like to think his tendency to make inappropriate jokes at inappropriate times lives on within me." Toby grinned, despite himself – thoughts of JT always spurred that reaction. In passing, at least; if he thought too hard about all that had been lost, Toby would probably end up crouched over in the stall next to Emma. "But you realize that Sean couldn't stop staring at you throughout the entire assembly, right? Unless that's a bad thing, and you don't want him staring at you. In which case, he was probably dozing off and just happened to be blankly looking at you as he slept… with his eyes open. If Sean can do that. If…" he faltered, "_humans_ can do that."

"_Really?" _Emma asked, her pitch a few octaves higher than usual. She hurriedly coughed and muttered, "Not that it really matters to me, though. At all. Really."

"It's good to know you've moved past him," Toby remarked dryly. He was, to be honest, enjoying this – it was refreshing to focus on someone's insecurities' besides his own – refreshing to be reminded that girls like Emma Nelson even _had _insecurities.

"Enough about my shitty life… How have the past eight years been for you, Tobs?" Emma asked, shamelessly changing the subject. Toby saw through her bluff, but took the bait anyway.

"Uh…" He stuttered and bought time, unsure if he should actually tell Emma the truth. How his job had him staring blankly at a computer for hours on end; his nights consisted of a depressingly silent phone and cold Chinese food. How fucking unsatisfied he felt every morning, every afternoon – every second.

Somehow, he got the vibe that Emma would understand.

"Pretty bad."

"And why is that, Mr. Isaacs?" Toby could see her legs slowly pulling themselves up – if she was stepping outside already, that would be a pleasant surprise. But she didn't leave her self-induced confinement, just chose a more comfortable seat on the toilet.

"I work a job I don't even really like, surrounded by people who I don't really like, in a city I don't really like, eating food I don't really like, watching TV I don't really like, in an apartment I don't really like, in a neighborhood –"

"Okay, okay!" Emma cut him off, but her next words were considerably softer. "You're trapped."

"Like a sexually repressed, stay-at-home mother of four."

Emma laughed again; the door to her stall swung open. Pale fingers clutching her purse for life support; eyes wide and rimmed in heavy black liner; hair tousled and dress riding up. "I've got to say, I never expected it." She offered him a small smile and stepped out, fixing her dress and adjusting her hair and fishing an eyeliner pencil out of her bag to re-cake her lids. "Eight years later, me and Toby Isaacs stuck in the exact same realm of suck."

She capped the eyeliner and dropped it back in her bag, smiling at Toby through the mirror. He grinned back, sensing the same old Emma-Nelson-loves-me-most tingle in his ribs. (Some things would never change.)

"Maybe this school really is cursed."

"All alumni are destined to lives of pathetic loneliness…?"

"Or maybe Rick's ghost is spiteful?" Toby asked brightly; Emma visibly winced. It wasn't the first time that Toby took a joke too far, but he ignored her uneasiness and asked, "Do you ever feel…guilty?"

Emma's tone was incredulous. "I kissed the guy, called him a freak… Three hours later, he attempted to gun people down. Uh, yeah, I feel a tad guilty."

"I was – his friend." Toby crossed his arms and avoided looking at Emma. Maybe, after all these years, he would finally get it out. "I was his best friend. I should have known – I should have stopped him."

"There's no way you could have known, Toby. What he did – how could any of us predicted that? I mean – a _gun? _The hell?"

"We – we talked about it!" Toby shot back fiercely. "We made Columbine jokes, to help us feel better after Spinner shoved us into the wall for the eightieth time that day. Days when math was particularly crappy, we'd decide to blow Armstrong up first!" Toby inhaled quickly – it was the first time he'd ever admitted this aloud. "We – we talked about it. I should have known."

Emma simply looked at him for a few moments. "You were a fifteen-year-old loser, so you joked around a little. A normal kid would never actually _act _on it, like he–"

"We all knew he wasn't normal. I could have told someone!"

Emma didn't respond at first, just stared at him through the mirror. "Wait – you think – you don't believe this is all _your _fault, do you?"

"Well, uh, yeah," Toby nodded; he found this to be fairly obvious. "I knew what he was planning."

"Somehow, I doubt that what Rick did was planned."

"But I – we joked, and I knew he was thinking about it, and after the paint – I could have, like, warned Raditch or whatever. But I didn't, I just went back to class. And all these kids were making fun of him, squawking and making chicken noises – and I didn't say a thing. I didn't even stand up for him."

"Toby…" Emma trailed off. "None of this – it's not your fault, at _all_. You didn't make fun of Rick, or pour the paint on him, or any of that. You didn't do anything."

"That's exactly it!" Toby said with a bitter laugh. "I didn't do a single thing. Didn't tell Raditch, didn't stand up for Rick when it counted, didn't try to stop him once he actually had the fucking gun. Sean – he jumped in the line of fire and wrestled the fucking thing away. Me? I held your hand and cowered in the corner."

"What else could you have _done_?" Emma asked loudly.

"Something – anything! Tried to talk him down, or gotten you away from there –" Toby shot back, equally as loud.

"Sean nearly died, because of what he did!"

"He was in the papers! He saved the entire school! You saw the fanfare he got back there – even Hatzilakos was fawning all over him, calling him a hero and Degrassi's angel, and all that crap! She hardly even mentioned me!"

"You wish you had risked your life… so you could be _famous?_"

"I wish I had risked my life – to prove that I had something worth risking in the first place!" Toby bellowed, almost directly down Emma's windpipe – that's how close they were. Emma blinked and backed away; Toby sheepishly wiped away stray tears and cleared his throat. "I …wonder if Rick can see us now, eh? Probably glad he got out of Degrassi when he could, right?"

Emma didn't laugh. "Come on, let's find Sean and Jimmy." She held out her hand; Toby hesitated a second before grabbing it. "Holding your hand is the only thing I remember," she informed him as they pushed through the door out into the hallway. "From that moment – the only thing I didn't block out. Be proud of that."

Toby smiled. Together, they continued down the hallway, hands clasped.

**IV.**

Emma and Toby found Jimmy and Sean sitting together on a windowsill by the science wing. Jimmy was the first to spot the two, still holding hands – he hit Sean in the arm, muttering under his breath. Sean looked up; his eyebrows shot up. Once they reached them, Toby took his usual route of attempting to ease the awkwardness but only succeeding in making it even more so: "We're pregnant!"

Sean coughed as Emma unlatched her arm from Toby's grip, regretting her momentary lapse in judgment. What if Sean thought she was with – _Toby? _What if he misread her signals, weak as they were? What if he didn't love –

Emma shut her eyes, ran her tongue over her teeth. Sean Cameron, single army officer. Sean Cameron, not hers anymore.

"We were just –" she explained hurriedly, struggling to come up with a fitting phrase for the conversation she and Toby just had. "– catching up?"

"In a completely nonsexual way, I _swear_," Toby added sincerely. Emma rolled her eyes, secretly grateful for the awkward comment and Sean's visible reassurance.

"Emma – you okay?" Sean asked quietly.

"Oh, um, yes, I'm…fine. Really. I –" – she locked eyes with Sean briefly and was momentarily inspired to speak the truth – "– remembering this day, everything that happened – I haven't really done that it a long time. It's…it's hard."

He nodded solemnly. She absent-mindedly brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Oh, _fuck_, was that a _grey _bit?

She brainstormed methods to pluck out the offending hair while the boys weren't looking as the small talk continued. By the time she had decided to let it be for now, the topic had drifted towards post-ceremony plans.

"I'm meeting Ash for dinner at seven, but until then I'm _totally_ open," Toby was saying, taking care to emphasize his last few words. Even ten years later, he was still jumping at the possibility of hanging with the cool kids. (The notion that they'd all once frequented different crowds struck Emma as so foreign, now. God, high school sucked.)

"Ash? Really?" Jimmy asked, barely able to suppress his grin. "How is she doing these days?"

"Really good, actually, working for some big name law firm. Single, and looking, just in case anyone in the general vicinity was wondering."

"Nah," Jimmy shook his head. "Me and Ash had our thing, amazing as it was – but it's good to know she's doing well."

"Who said I was talking about you?" Toby shot back. "I for was thinking my sister and _Sean _would make an excellent couple."

They laughed; Emma stiffened at the thought of Sean with anyone else. That was one benefit (the _only _benefit) of Sean being in the army – girls? Not so much. At least, in Emma's head.

"What were you planning on doing, Emma?" Sean asked pointedly.

"Me? Um, well, I was just going to head home and watch a DVD with Jack."

"We should, um – you know, before I leave – maybe, possibly – only if you're interested –" Sean stuttered nervously, fumbling over his words.

"What a _great_ idea!" Toby hooted, clapping a hand on Sean's back. "We should all do something, while we're in town – as a matter of fact, how about right now? We're all free, aren't we?" The other three looked to each other, shrugging in a might-as-well-let-the-dork-have-his-day sort of way. Toby interpreted this as a rousing affirmative, growing more excited by the moment. "Alright, sweet! We should go to – _The Dot!_ We totally have to go there! I spent most of my life at that place! I would _kill _for a plate of their French fries, but, only like a small dog or something – I mean, they're good, but they're not like second-degree murder good –"

The Toby who was excitedly recalling former glory days at the local burger joint was a completely different person than the man who'd shouted in frustration at his lack of anything minutes before. Emma knew Toby well enough to realize that this – this bumbling, eager, awkward joke-making dork – was how he compensated for the empty.

Ten years later, none of their coping methods had altered all that much. Toby rambled, Jimmy drew; Emma puked her guts up and Sean punched things. Some things had changed, however, like how her life was rapidly morphing into a heart-warming dramedy about former high school friends reconnecting in a sad, sick, twisted world. _Ten years earlier, a school shooting shattered their innocence – but not their capacity to love! Coming to theatres near you. _Lame taglines aside, it _was_ odd. The former geek, jock, delinquent and (of course) the bulimic hippie – going to _The Dot_ for French fries.


End file.
